Noam took another step backward, holding his bag against his stomach as if it were an armored vest. “Not tired.”
“I want to check your baggage,” Hersh said. “Make sure you packed everything.”
“I did.” Noam retreated. “Everything’s okay.”
“Gun loaded?” Hersh asked.
Noam shook his head and took another step backward. “You said, what would be the point of loading it? That we were packing it inside the valise and checking it through.”
Hersh stepped forward and said, “Well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to load it anyway.”
Noam retreated some more and said, “That doesn’t make any sense. It might go off accidentally; then we’d be in trouble for no reason.”
Nobody spoke for a moment. Noam could tell that Hersh was mad. He was looking at the bag. He wanted it. He wanted the gun. Yet he wasn’t making any moves toward it. Then Hersh gave him that weird smile and Noam saw why. Hersh was holding a gutting knife in his right hand. He wasn’t exactly threatening him with it, but he was kind of waving it around.
“Give me the gun,” Hersh said. His voice was steady. “Hey, I’ll load it for you, Nick-O.”
Noam’s heart raced in his chest, his head banging like a gavel.
Like that book Hersh always read—Marvin K. Mooney.
The time had come.
This was it!
He was positive that Hersh was going to kill him. The thought of being butchered like those other men made him dizzy, made him sick. But he couldn’t get sick now. Not with so much tshuvah left to do.
What to do?
Run?
Not a chance. Hersh was quicker.
Think, Noam told himself. He was so tired, so weak, nauseated from what had happened and no sleep.
Play dumb. Try to get a little more time.
Noam backed up, never taking his eyes off Hersh. Slowly, he unzipped his bag. He’d pretend he’d lost the gun. That was a good trick.
He reached inside, attempted to feel around. Yes, there was the gun. And to his surprise, it was loaded. At least it had a clip in it. Whether the clip was empty or not, he didn’t know.
But Hersh didn’t know either.
Noam pulled the gun out slowly, pointing the barrel at Hersh’s feet. He forced himself to breathe in slowly. Then the words came gushing out.
“It’s still loaded. With everything such a mess at the motel I must have forgotten to take the clip out. I thought I did, but I must have forgotten.” Noam hugged the butt tightly and took a deep breath. God was still with him. “I think I’ll hold it until right before we’re ready to go. Just in case, you know?”
Noam watched as Hersh rocked forward, then rocked back into place. He could tell that Hersh was really mad. Really, really mad! Hersh wanted to kill him, cut him up. Hersh just loved cutting that poor man up. He was a monster from the other world, the yetzer harah in a man’s body.
But Noam also realized that he had the power. He was the one with the gun in his hand. Hersh was stuck! Stuck, stuck, stuck!
Hersh shrugged. “Sure, whatever you want.” He returned to his spot and sat down on the ground. “You can stand guard for the next hour. Then we’d better head out.”
“You gonna sleep?” Noam asked.
Too much hope in the voice.
Hersh gave him another big, lopsided smile. Gently, he began to trace images in the ground with the point of the blade. “Nah, way too worked up to sleep. If you want to—”
“I don’t.”
“So we’ll both stay awake.”
“Okay,” Noam said.
Hersh kept tracing designs. “We’ll sleep on the plane.”
“Okay.”
“I got it all planned out.” He was doing a neat pattern of concentric circles. “We’ll go business class. We’ll check into an A-one hotel, we’ll do it all up first rate. We deserve a little fun, Nick-O. Hey, I didn’t mean for it to go this messy, but sometimes that hap—” He flung his head upward.
“What is it?” Noam asked. His knuckles were white from clenching the gun.
“You hear that?” Hersh whispered.
“Hear what?”
“That noise?”
“What noise—”
“Shut up and listen,” Hersh whispered.
Noam didn’t hear anything. Get a grip on yourself!
Hersh said, “Someone’s out there.”
“I can’t hear—”
“Shut up!” Hersh whispered furiously. “It may be nothin’, it may be somethin’. Give me the gun!”
“No,” Noam said, backing away. “Leave me alone!”
Hersh whispered, “Lower your fuckin’ voice!”
Noam felt his knees shake. “You’re trying to trick me. You’re planning to kill me. You’re making all this up—”
“Shut up!”
“You’re making all this up so you can kill me!” Noam screamed. “I’m not going to give you the gun! Ever! And if you come any closer, if you move, I’ll shoot you! I’ll shoot you dead!”
Hersh stared at him. “You’re crazy, Nick-O! Flip city! Someone’s gettin’ close and you’re gonna get us both killed!”
“You’re lying!”
Hersh whispered desperately, “Don’t you fuckin’ hear it? Can’t you hear footsteps? I don’t believe…” He began to pace. “Well, you stick around, bud, but I’m callin’ it a day!”
But then Noam leveled the gun at Hersh’s eyes and Hersh halted in his tracks.
The noises became louder.
Instantly, Noam panicked. There were noises. His chest got tight and he began to wheeze. Hersh hadn’t been lying. Someone was out there.
What to do? What to do?
Hersh read the fear in Noam’s eyes and whispered quickly, “Put the gun away, Nick-O. If it’s a cop, we’ll pretend we’re bums and he’ll just send us on.”
Noam lowered the gun. Was this another one of Hersh’s tricks? If he put the gun away, Hersh might jump him. No, he couldn’t put the gun away. Without the gun, he was dead.
“Put it away!” Hersh screamed in an angry whisper.
Noam was paralyzed with fear. Get a grip on yourself!
Then Hersh lunged at him.
Pointing the Beretta, Decker jumped out of the darkness and yelled, “Freeze, motherfucker!”
Hersh stopped almost in midair.
“Drop the knife, you motherfucker!” Decker shouted. “Drop it! Drop it! Drop it now! Drop it! Drop it! Drop it!”
Hersh let the knife fall to the ground and raised his hands in the air. “He was trying to shoot me—”
“Hit the ground,” Decker screamed to Hersh. In the back of his mind, he knew Noam was holding the gun. But Hersh was his main concern. “Now! Hit it! Hit it! Hit it!” He moved forward, reaching behind his back for his cuffs. Then he remembered where they were.
He cursed his stupidity. Was that friggin poetic justice or what! Hersh was on his knees. Decker pushed him all the way down, kicked his legs into a spread-eagle position. Kneeling, he yanked Hersh’s hands behind his back, then tried to undo his belt. As he fumbled with the buckle, he felt the presence of another body close to his. He looked up.
Noam pointing the gun at him.
Decker felt sweat pouring down his brow. “I was sent here by your family, Noam.” He was trying to free his belt. “Sent here by your abba and eema. Put away the gun, son. All I want to do is just take you home, back to Boro Park. I spent yom tov at your bubbe’s. Everyone was so worried about you—”
“Bullshit, Nick-O!” Hersh interrupted. “You know how they really feel—”
Decker jerked the arm upward. Hersh let out a yelp of pain.
Noam just staring, his eyes far away.
Decker said, “Noam, I’m Sammy…Shmuli and Yonkie’s stepdad. I’m married to Rina Lazarus. You know Mrs. Lazarus, don’t you? She knows you. She always said what a fine boy you were.”
Hersh said, “Bullshit. They all hate you, Nick-O. You know that.”
<
br /> “He’s lying,” Decker said calmly. “They all love you very much.” It had been about twenty minutes. If he ever got the sucker’s hands tied, he’d call for backup.
Hersh said, “He’s lying, Nick-O.” He broke into laughter. “Guy’s not a cop. Look at ’im, Nick-O. He don’t even have handcuffs! This dude’s probably a bounty hunter. He’s getting bread to break our balls—”
Decker jerked Hersh’s arm up again.
“Goddamn sheygetz Nazi!” Hersh grunted out.
Decker pushed Hersh’s face into the dirt.
Noam blurted out, “Don’t do that!” He was shaking hard now. The man on top of Hersh was definitely a cop. He knew that because Mrs. Lazarus had married a sheygetz cop from Los Angeles. Everybody knew it. Noam knew that this man was going to take them both to jail. Forever. That was what cops did. And this cop was acting like a Nazi. “You’re hurting him. Stop hurting him.”
“He’s not hurt,” Decker explained patiently. “If I wanted to hurt him badly, I could. But I don’t want to do that. I’m not going to do that. Noam, put the gun down. Please! Think of your family who love you—”
“Bullshit!” laughed Hersh. “They think you’re a piece of shit! You told me that!”
“He’s lying, Noam,” Decker persisted. “They love you. They haven’t slept a moment since you’ve been gone. They’re so worried about—”
“My bubbe must have called you,” Noam interrupted.
“Your bubbe loves you very much.”
“The call must have been traced,” Noam said. “How else would you know I was here?”
“The call wasn’t traced—”
“She lied to me,” Noam said, tears streaming down from his eyes. “She swore on the Chumash that the call wasn’t traced. But how else would you know I was here?”
“Because I’m a cop, Noam. I know these things.”
At last, Decker had felt his belt come loose. One final yank and it was free. Then he saw his hand radio go flying into the air and crash-land ten feet away. He’d forgotten it was hooked on to his belt loop.
Swell.
He wondered if it was on, if the talk button was depressed. He yelled out to Rina to call for backup and hoped for the best. Then he began to wrap the belt around Hersh’s wrists.
“Stop it,” Noam screamed to Decker. He was pointing the gun and sobbing. “Stop it, stop it, stop it! Leave him alone!”
Decker stopped tying Hersh’s hands. Goddamn psycho broke into a grin and Decker knew what he was thinking. Noam was going to be his savior. Well, fuck that noise.
“Noam, put away the gun. Every second you hold on to it, you’re taking the chance of putting yourself in deep trouble. Put it down before something terrible happens.”
“I’m not going to jail,” Noam said.
Decker said, “Of course you’re not. You’re a victim. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
Noam was gripping the gun, panting like a dog. “I don’t believe you! You’re lying! Just like my bubbe lied!”
“Noam, your bubbe didn’t lie,” Decker said, softly. “I figured it out on my own. Like I told you, I’m a cop. I’m a Los Angeles detective specializing in finding kids. Finding kids is what I’ve been trained to do, what I do for a living.”
The boy quieted, appeared to be listening.
Hersh said, “He’s full of shit, Nick-O—”
“I hate when you call me Nick-O, Hersh!” Noam shouted. “I hate it, hate it, hate it! I hate you!”
Decker looked at Noam, looked at the gun. The boy was still holding it tightly, but it was pointing at the ground.
“Noam, you’ve got to trust me. Show you how much I trust you, I’ll do this. You’ve got a gun, I’ve got a gun. I’ll put mine right here next to me.” Decker gingerly placed his weapon at his heel far enough for show but close enough to be retrievable. “Now you do the same.”
Noam didn’t move.
“Noam, you’re not going to shoot me. You’re not going to shoot anyone. I know you wouldn’t do that—”
“Dafuck do you know?” Hersh laughed out. “He shot the others.”
“Liar!” Noam screamed, shaking out of control. “Liar, liar, liar, liar, liar!”
“You’re goin’ crazy, Nicky,” Hersh screamed back. “Fuckin’ looneytunes! Do somethin’ before this dude does somethin’—”
“Shut up!” Decker tightened his grip on Hersh. “Put the gun down, Noam. Put it down now!”
Hersh shouted, “Shoot him like you shot the others, Nick-O!”
“Liar!” Noam screamed. “Liar! You’re my yetzer harah. I know it now. I hate you!”
“Drop the gun, Noam!” Decker said. “I’m going to take you back to your parents, but I can’t help you unless you drop your gun!”
“I hate you, Hersh Schaltz!” Noam shrieked. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” He gasped for breath. “I hate everybody! I hate me!”
In one swift motion, Noam brought the gun to his head.
“Noooooo,” Decker screamed as he jumped him. The gun discharged, nicking the top of the boy’s head. An instant red part oozed from his scalp. Noam brought his hand to his head and screamed that he was dying.
Decker knew it was only a graze. But Noam was the least of his problems. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hersh lunging for Noam’s fallen Beretta, his fingers wrapping around the butt.
Decker charged him, protecting his own head. The two of them hit the ground, inhaling dirt and grit, trying to land punches. Decker had at least fifty pounds on Hersh, but being light, Hersh had the advantage of speed. Decker reached out, hugged him at the waist, but Hersh wriggled out of the grasp. They hit the ground again, but this time Hersh had positioned himself on top.
With the gun firmly planted in his hand, Hersh tried to aim, but Decker saw the move coming and made a play for the weapon. Hersh yanked the automatic aloft, out of Decker’s reach. With both hands, Decker grabbed Hersh’s wrist into a vise-lock and held the wiry outstretched arm, trying to point the barrel away from both of them.
Squeezing the wrist as hard as he could, hoping to pop the piece out of the fucker’s fingers.
Hersh hanging on to the weapon.
Son of a bitch had iron clamps for fingers.
Decker kept squeezing, feeling Hersh squirming on top of him. A moment later, something hard was jammed into his solar plexus. Psycho had knee-dropped him. Decker was forced to loosen his grip, but he didn’t let go.
Still, the sucker moved in. Decker saw his fate too clearly. The wrist flexing forward, the gun pointing at his face. The finger on the trigger.
The gun fired.
Instantaneously, Decker rolled to the side, saving his cheekbones from shattering, but the first slug ate through his left shoulder. He screamed.
The second bullet hit Decker’s left arm.
Blood spurting onto his cheeks.
A muzzle aimed at his face, a crooked smile behind it.
Once again, Decker rolled to the side as the gun discharged, the bullet whizzing past his temple.
Noam flailed his arms and shrieked out, “Stop it, Hersh!” He began to pummel Hersh’s back. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
Hersh was forced to push him away, giving Decker just enough time to move in. He kicked upward, made contact with Hersh’s belly, causing him to double over. But Hersh still had Noam’s gun in his hands.
Decker kicked him again, then scrambled for his own gun, just inches away. Blood had drenched his clothes; he felt himself growing weak. Inching over to his weapon, he knotted his fingers around the butt and fell onto his back just as Hersh had caught his breath. No time to aim. Decker picked up the gun and fired upward, pulling the trigger at the same time Hersh discharged his weapon.
Hersh’s bullet ricocheting off the ground.
Decker fired again. And again.
Hersh staggering forward, two intersecting red holes between his eyes—scarlet Venn diagrams.
Decker kept shooting.
&
nbsp; Noam let out a blood-curdling scream.
Hersh’s forehead squirted fountains of blood. Then he fell, landing on Decker with a thud.
Decker pushed him off with his good arm and gripped the gunshot wound on his arm.
Noam’s cries echoing in the still of the night.
Shut up, Decker thought. Shut the fuck up!
The air so damn cool. Blood pouring out of his body. At least, something in his body was warm.
He told himself: Gotta get up. You’re going to bleed to death out here, you asshole. Get the fuck up!
Noam still screeching like a macaw.
Decker lay on his back, clasping his bloody arm with his fingers, his body soaked with cold sweat. “Get help, dammit!” he shouted to Noam.
But the boy remained immobile.
Then Decker heard a voice. He couldn’t see who it was: It was dark and misty and his vision had blurred. A female voice crying out, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”
Sounded like Rina, Decker thought, as blood ran down his chest. But wasn’t she cuffed to the wheel? He was disoriented. He was seeing things, hearing things.
Rina kneeling over him now, still crying out, “Oh, my God, oh, my God.” Her gun was shaking in her hands. Decker thought: I could have really used that sucker a minute ago.
Rina put down the gun and ripped off her kerchief, wrapping it around his arm. Pressed the cloth hard against his wound. Deep-throbbing pain. But he could take it. What was bothering him most was Noam screaming. Rina must have read his thoughts. She yelled at the boy to shut up and his screams immediately quieted to tiny, sniveling gasps.
“That motherfucker shot me!” Decker grunted out. He was getting increasingly agitated. “I don’t fucking believe it! That motherfucker actually shot me!”
Rina didn’t answer. Decker took one look at her face and knew he was in bad shape. He was cold, he was numb, he was slipping. And Rina, poor kid, trying so hard to hide her hysteria…
“You gotta tie above the wound,” Decker whispered. “Fucker hit my artery! I’m gonna fucking bleed out unless you fucking do something!”
Rina pulled off the bloody kerchief and tied it farther above the wound.
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